


A tournament

by FakeCirilla9



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossdressing, Drinking, F/M, Fun, Intrigue, Jousting, Married Life, Post-War of the Ring, References to Depression, court life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Just a bit of court life after the Lord of the Rings action
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Imrahil & Éowyn, Merry Brandybuck & Pippin Took, Éomer & Arwen, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	A tournament

There was a lot of fuss over the preparations for a tournament. Maids were packing dresses as if preparing her for another permanent change of places to live in and not merely a few days' stay at the castle removed one horse-ride from Ithilien. Valets and butlers were busy carrying packages, hauling them on wains, strapping against bumps on the road. Faramir tried to supervise it, calming servants and housewives' fevered nerves, settling occasional quarrels and seemingly never running out of patience at yet one more question whether to bring this or that pot. Éowyn observed all this barely holding her growing irritation in check.

She's unwilling to go, knowing there will be men playing mock fights and she forced to sit beside nobles she hardly cared for, once more rendered to barely higher in status than a handmaid. Once more forced to enact the quiet polite lass from a regal house. Do everything that etiquette demands. Valar forbid do anything unseemly. Unseemly for a woman that is. Her brother will ride horseback, clang copy with other men and laugh while drinking himself into a doze.

She clenched her fists until nails spiked the skin. Pain brought little relief.

Bigger, darker palms embraced hers. She let him coerce her muscles to unclench but did not look up into his eyes.

"They are merely doing their duties, even if taking them to their hearts to the extreme. Some never were in the city. Some never in their lives saw elves. They do not dilly dally on purpose."

"It is not them that trouble me."

"I thought you will be glad to see your brother again. And Merry."

"But I will not be glad to sit and entertain guests. Not while others are wielding sword and spear alike, even if only for joy."

"Fighting for joy... One would think all battles past would be more than enough. But people love sharp steel more than they ought to."

"What is wrong if clang of metal pleases them? They ought to stay vigilant if another unforeseen danger came. And if they wish to show their prowess instead of training in barracks why not let them?"

"I reckon that you may yet enjoy it." Now he smiled at her and she realised she’s been staring into the grey eyes with a challenge for a while. "Anyway, do not trouble yourself with unfathomable griefs. Who can read what tomorrow brings? We can only do our part the best we can. And as lady and lord of Ithilien, we ought to be there."

***

The day of the tournament has come and Éowyn's spirits were lifted a bit at least for now as she rode aback her faithful Windfola, next to her husband and surrounded with a suite, overseeing the tiltyard.

Raised may it be quickly but it was not made negligently. Tribunes surrounding it have seats prepared for the King and his court and royal guests but the site was chosen considerately to include many of the lesser folk. Next levels of the White City rose steeply in here, providing platform after platform for the abundant audience.

Lists themselves were of fair wood nearly white as the Tree of Númenor. Since elves came to dwell near, the stone city became more green, more filled with living plants and so now the paling was adorned with wreaths of flowers. Near the board reserved to an arbiter there laid more rich bouquets, and trophies of gold set with gems (courtesy of the dwarves no doubt), waiting to reward the winner.

Spears prepared for the fun glinted with polished, yet tempered shafts in the early rays of the sun.

"Do you like it, my lady?" Asked Aragorn, nearly imperceptible in his grey cloak leaning on a balustrade.

"It is impressive. Let us hope the jousts will be equally pleasing."

Faramir hopped down, bowing before his king but Aragorn took him in an embrace, then held at arm’s length, staring into the face of the younger man. Éowyn stopped overanalysing the amount of their touching and gazing some time ago. Even if she felt a pang of jealousy at the beginning, it faded eventually as they never seemed to move that any further than what she now witnessed from a saddle.

"…good to see you, you should visit us more often"

"Same I could say about you and the Queen. I know she enjoys the gardens of Ithilien. You are welcome there any time, my liege."

"I wish Faramir, I wish," sighed the King, "if only matters of state would let me."

"That is hardly an attire of a king though. Do you perhaps plan to participate?"

Éowyn slid down gracefully, paying a sharper ear.

"Ah, no, this whisk of time is all I managed to steal for myself. The presence of the king will be demanded, later, and as the first spectator. Besides, what is the joy of competing if they'd all let me win."

"I dare say," put in Éowyn, "you would win even if they tried very much to hinder you in it."

"That is a high compliment, indeed, my lady. Would I that you'd bet on me rather than on thy own husband? The chosen knight not need be the chosen spouse but wouldn't you feel omitted, Faramir?"

"Hardly I could as I do not intend to take part in the jousting," answered the Steward surprising them both.

Éowyn was near-certain she saw him ordering some parts of armour packed.

"But–" she started but was not able to finish as trumpets sounded, swallowing her words in a joyous theme.

"That is a signal to began preparations. I need to go change to fit a kingly position, as they tell me" said Aragorn.

"I did not mean–"

"No offence taken, my knight. And it is not only you. Prince Imrahil would not let me open the ceremony wearing rags."

***

As the sun grew higher, so Éowyn mood dropped lower. The first few jousts were captivating. Predicting who'd win, analysing their style of fights. Commenting on horses. Exchanging views with fellow Rohirrims that came and went to the tribune saluting their White Lady.

But it soon became tiring. Sunlit too brightly. Festive dress itched uncomfortably. Even more uncomfortable were Imrahil's gazes full of admiration turned her way. She considered if she shan't give her sign to Erkenbrand but she really didn't want her candidate to lose with Éomer who was preening his silver brooch given him by the Queen herself.

"How can Aragorn bear it" she wondered aloud seeing another long gaze Éomer passed to the elven Queen.

"Perhaps he trusts her. Same as my dear cousin Lothíriel must trust your brother."

"She doesn't know him as I do… Nay, do not mind me my, love, I am only envious of him, not for the first time in my life. I could unseat him in a fair joust. If only was I born a man."

"The world would be robbed of much its beauty then," commented Imrahil somehow managing to drift near her.

"Beg your pardon, lords, I need to take some air," she extracted herself from the crowd going swiftly and soon running.

"Did I say something to displease her? I feel she doesn’t like me much. Or indeed dislikes very strongly."

"No, kindred. She merely does not welcome some compliments or enjoys some attentions."

“There is always such sadness to her,” sighed Imrahil, “and yet loveliness. I had hoped to compete in her name today.”

“I do not think she would take kindly to it.”

"Or maybe on the contrary,” Merry, who was contenting himself with a pint of beer nearby, meddled in with a veritably hobbitish unrestraint. “She's displeased her husband does not take part in the jousting," he said, then seemed to shrink under Imrahil's aghast gaze. "I meant, I didn't mean no offence."

But Faramir only hid his smile.

"Perhaps our perian is right. At least in part. I shall mend some things if I can, then."

He made to depart.

"Will you fight?" asked Imrahil.

"No, I said I wouldn't and I do not go back on my word, be it such a trivial matter. But I did not tell you all. I have my champion for today's fight, I only waited when jousts with horses will begin for my knight is from Rohan. If you will excuse me, my lords," he inclined his head towards the King.

Aragorn watched him go but did not stop him engaged in a talk with Éomer nearly glued to the throne seats.

***

He found her on the battlement, gazing south at the great river as fair as in the day he first saw her. She was a bit older now but her beauty only matured. Her hair were bound for the festivities and she was clad in a different dress but the same doughty spirit kindled in her, veiled under the layer of a reserved behaviour as horse breeches were hid under the long skirt of her dress.

She swiped her hand through her face, pretending to push back some astray hair. He didn't acknowledge her tears.

"Éowyn. Will thou not come? Everyone's waiting for you."

"In a moment. Give me a little while."

"But I am afraid there is not much time. The horse jousting will begin soon and those who miss first round may be disqualified."

She went upright and turned to him slowly.

"What are you saying, my lord?"

"Do you think Windfola remembers the days of the battle or should you borrow one of your brother's stallions?"

"I... don't quite follow."

"Do you not?" He came closer and they stood face to face now. "I was almost convinced you saw through my little intrigue when you protested earlier."

Her eyes started shining as understanding and a newly found joy filled her heart.

"Why didn't you tell anything sooner?!"

"Are you angry with me? I wondered if I should but I judged a joy unexpected is twice the joy, as Éomer often says. But now be quick! You need to get into Beregond’s place, there waits everything you shall need."

"I shall never make a mistake again of taking you for an honest man." Éowyn laughed and the sound was like ringing of merry bells. "Thou may never lie but you're a master of concealing things."

***

“Have you not any luck then, recalling your lady to us?” asked the King upon his Steward’s returning alone. He always was keen on noticing things concerning people he loved, even if his attention was distracted by other events.

“She’s found an activity more to her liking. I’m afraid she won’t join us soon,” answered Faramir gravely.

“What of your knight, then?” asked the Queen.

Faramir smiled.

“Will be here in a minute. You shall recognise the white crest of the House of Stewards wrought at the tunic.”

***

Merry was finishing his pint and wondering whether he shall to seek forgiveness again or do not bring matter anew for the Steward looked content gazing at the field, where Imrahil just put to dust one of the Dúnedain of the north.

"I wonder how his armour stays so shiny," commented Pippin at his side.

"What?"

"Have you ever noticed? It is always clear as a mirror and no speck to be seen on it and its owner hardly backs away from a fight. I think it must be charmed."

"Don't talk nonsense. If armour be charmed then against a blow and not dirt. Anyway, hush and watch now the real entertainment begins."

Two knight riders holding spears rode calmly into positions. Beasts were uneasy but they mastered them as only Rohirrim could.

"You only say this because you're a knight of Rohan and they will obviously win the competition. Will you take part in this too?"

"Only if you seat the opposite pony because Gimli can't be persuaded into- "

Suddenly Merry stopped talking because the herald cried the names of the attendants.

"Erkenbrand Marshall of Rohan and his opponent, Dernhelm."

Merry went to the very barrier, not wanting to miss anything. The horses danced in place sensing the tension, then, as the signal was given, rushed from a halt into a full gallop. Riders lowered their lances. Helmets shielded the view of their faces. A horsetail upon the Marshall cap unfurled in the wind. Behind Dernhelm only his yellow hair flew.

The knights clashed.

And behold! Despite Dernhelm's petite built, he stayed firmly in the saddle unmoved by the spike grazing his shoulder. Erkenbrand had less mastery. He was launched backwards by the precise thrust from the younger warrior, seemed to hang in the air, then landed in the ground with a heard thump when his horse galloped away.

Dernhelm rode before the audience majestically, bowing before the Royal couple although Merry thought he saw a glance directed at Faramir who was clapping in earnest.

Minstrel announced current ranks and the competition went on. Dernhelm moved to the side waiting for next round, although even resting he did not take off the helmet nor uplifted the face shield.

The tournament went on until only the very best of the horse masters remained. Unsurprisingly, Númenóreans and even Rangers from the north were defeated. Unsurprisingly, Éomer King was still horsed, seeming fresh and ready for a fight as if he had not knocked down several opponents already.

Surprisingly for some, though, another one that remained was the lithe knight Dernhelm.

The final joust came. Trumpets sounded. Horse started.

And Éomer found himself on the ground for the first time since he mounted for the competition.

He sat in the mud, taking off his helmet looking around as if still not believing what had happened.

While Dernhelm rode to the arbiter before the thrones, bowing to the wide audience, making his horse curtsy with one front leg as well.

Then the Queen spoke: "It is not just that the defeater of my knight shall hide his face. Show your mien, brave one, so we could reward you.”

Dernhelm jumped down the horseback and took off his helmet.

Blond hair spilt down the armour plates now loose from the complex hairstyle; it reached the waist. Éowyn stood before them, her features brighter than in any man, brightened yet by a wide smile. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion but her eyes shone with joy.

From the crowd cheering came after the first moment of shock passed, and Merry cheered perhaps the loudest.

“Your knight, hm?” Aragorn murmured. “For a moment I worried about her and you, when you come thither alone, looking so stern.”

Faramir looked at his lord apologetically.

“Anything else would spoil the fun.”


End file.
